


The Coward's Way Out

by alienlover13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Acceptance, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Butt Plugs, Crying, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, HP: EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Romance, Smut, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienlover13/pseuds/alienlover13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t fair and it wasn't right, but he’d long given up on any semblance of control over his own life, even five years after graduating from Hogwarts. But when faced with an inevitable life change, Draco resorts to desperate measures to escape his unwanted fate. Naturally, a certain green eyed menace interferes, and Draco falls into a breathtaking reality he never thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Betrothal

“Excuse me,” huffed Draco’s dinner date, the third woman he’d been out with this week. “Can you please pass the salt? For Christs’ sake, no one who looks like _me_ should have to ask three times before the _gentleman_ responds.”

Draco gave her a withering glare because it _wasn’t_ like he actually wanted to be on this miserable outing, nor was he intentionally annoying her. It just so happened that the chicken marsala he’d ordered thirty minutes previously, the only saving grace about this evening, was currently commanding all of his attention.

If he was going to be forced to wine and dine a different woman every night, the least he could do was actually enjoy the food he was consuming.

Without speaking, he wandlessly Levitated the salt over and watched as her face puckered into an expression suggesting she’d smelled something quite nasty. But her feelings were of no concern to him.

There was nothing worse than giving said dinner date the wrong impression about his intentions. Draco had empathized with the woman who’d accompanied him on his very first matchmaker dinner date a month ago, assuming she also had a parent forcing her to attend. That was very much not the case. He’d given her a hug goodnight and she’d molested him, crushing their mouths together and groping his crotch before he returned to his senses and shoved her away.

Since then, Draco had adopted a persona of careful nonchalance not so different than his usual demeanor at Hogwarts. However, where the idea back then had been to coolly attract as much attention as possible, with his dates he strove for the opposite. It was always an especially good feeling when, after being ignored all evening, the insulted woman stormed out of the restaurant before dessert. Draco would order the most delectable chocolate cake on the menu and eat it delicately, thinking about how much time he’d need to spend running the next day to burn off the calories but not letting the thought deter him.

Residing with parents, there was only so much actual _living_ one could possibly do, and Draco intended to soak up every moment of pleasure he could.

He pretended not to hear his date when she asked if he wanted to share a low-cal vanilla ice cream for dessert, dabbing gently at his mouth with his cloth napkin while simultaneously composing a short piano melody in his head.

After asking twice, she shook her head as if asking why degrade herself in this way. Eventually, she rose from the table and drained her wine glass, leaving Draco with the bill.

Good thing his father was financing Draco’s so-called “debut” to society. He’d be taking all of the potential _wives_ to Muggle fast food joints if it was on his dollar.

Draco only allowed himself one vice a day, so he skipped dessert after paying the bill and skulked out to the park just across the corner from the restaurant, pulling a beat-up container of cigarettes out of his inner jacket pocket. He didn’t smoke often, but when he did, the day was sure to have been a doozy.

The nicotine felt like heaven served up on a silver platter. For that brief cigarette, he permitted himself to think about the gentleman two tables away that’d been having the time of his life with _his_ date, an adorable American bloke who laughed loudly and gesticulated wildly.

Draco would have given all the gold in his Gringotts account to trade places with that man.

He delicately drew breath from the cigarette, trying to make it last longer. It never did, but he somehow still couldn’t convince himself to stop trying.

 The thought of Apparating home made him uncomfortable, as usual. No matter what spell he used, Draco could never manage to disguise his smoking from Father. It wasn’t fair or right, but he’d long given up on any semblance of control over his own life, even five years after graduating from Hogwarts. _My house, my rules_ had long been Father’s motto, and Draco couldn’t get a job in the Wizarding World. He no longer thought of the Mark burned into his skin as defining him, except when it did.

In for a Knut, in for a Galleon. Draco slid another cigarette from the carton, breathing the toxic air indulgently. He’d read extensively about the dangers of smoking yet still chose to partake anyway. Truth be told, he wished that death by smoking would find him sooner rather than later. What was a life spend locked away in his parents’ mansion – a life without friends, a life without _purpose_ – worth to him or anyone else?

Sure enough, when he arrived home, Father took one sniff before glaring daggers at Draco.

“Have we not had conversations about how revoltingly common smoking is?” he sneered, perfectly composed in his elegant robes.

“We’ve had many conversations, Father,” said Draco evenly.

“And yet you still never listen to a word I say,” Father said with malice. He subtly took a deep breath as if to prepare himself for something unpleasant. In this respect, Draco knew exactly how he felt.

Pulling no punches, Father asked, “Will you marry this one?”

He didn’t care about how Draco actually felt; he was only concerned with the end result: Draco’s subsequent marriage to a Pureblooded woman from a reputable family, which would theoretically restore the Malfoys’ former status and prestige.

Draco always said that if Father wanted status and prestige, _he_ could always be the one to remarry. Unfortunately, that suggestion never went over very well. He always felt mildly guilty for saying it, especially if Mother was in the room, but it wasn’t enough to a deterrent to curb his sass.

“Potentially, Father,” Draco said, humoring him. “I think we had a real connection.”

Without pause, Father stepped forward and neatly backhanded Draco across the cheek.

“When are you going to learn not to lie to me, son?” snarled Father. “You have no interest in the wellbeing of this family.”

Draco wasn’t going to argue with him, though the words stung as much as the mark on his face.

“I simply cannot tell you,” said Father coldly, “How disappointed I am to have you for a son. What I wouldn’t have given for a task as mindless as marriage when I was young!”

“Is that all, Father?” asked Draco pointedly. Every evening he’d had this week had been taken up by Father’s demands and Draco was exhausted by the futility of his life.

Father met Draco’s eyes with malice. No longer willing to wait for permission, Draco turned on his heel and purposefully strode from the room, doing his best not to storm.

Personal chambers in the Malfoy Manor could be permanently locked the inhabitant’s will thanks to the ancient ancestor who’d valued privacy. Draco refused to be bothered for the rest of the night, even though he hadn’t greeted Mother since returning home. He initiated the locking system, breathing a sigh of relief at being finally alone and in his own space for the first time that day. When not out on dates, Draco was expected to prepare for his evenings out by reviewing the familial history of each selected woman.

He collapsed on his bed, not caring that his fancy dress robes were rumpled or that the pristine bed sheets were now wrinkled underneath him. There was no substitute for comfort, after all, even though it went against what Draco had been led to believe for the past twenty-two years.

Sleep did not come naturally. It never did, anymore. Between vivid nightmares of Potter daringly rescuing him from the fire in the Room of Requirement or being forced to torture others while in the employ of Lord Voldemort, Draco could not feel completely at ease.

Another urge was soundly overcoming his desire to sleep: his need for sexual gratification. Draco groaned; irrevocably, whenever he thought of Potter, his cock stiffened. It wasn’t right, getting all hot over speccy, knobbly-kneed gits, but Draco couldn’t safely say anything made much sense as of late.

Trying _not_ to think about Potter only made him think of Potter more. Draco sighed, giving in. He’d been largely suppressing his needs in order to make it through the never-ending set of dates unscathed. Making eyes at the American from across the restaurant was incredibly stupid on his part, especially because, at any time, one of the women could report back to Father how Draco seemed to be dissatisfied with his designated date. She might make insinuations about how he wanted to take it up the arse instead.

And oh, how right she would be. Draco felt his muscles clenching at the thought of the American giving it to him. He was sure the man loved like he conversed – wild, passionate, and caring. After sliding out of his trousers and pants, Draco Conjured a towel to cover the bed with before lying back down. He ran his fingers gently over his cock, enjoying the sensation of being touched. Hardness came naturally as his mind continued to provide him with fantasy dates. The lube was almost uncomfortably slick and made Draco feel uncomfortable if it was on his body too long, but he couldn’t deny that it facilitated marvelous pleasure to certain areas of his body.

After a few hard strokes, Draco’s desire started to lead his mind astray from the fantasies he was trying to play in his brain like a Muggle film strip. Instead, where he’d been imagining the American’s smiling face had been leaning over him, Potter was there instead; pushing Draco into the bed with his sturdy frame, fucking him through the mattress and into the floor. Heady with the tingling feeling of another body against his own, Draco breathed deeply as he closed his eyes and grasped his cock a little tighter.

The highest quality of stimulation to his cock couldn’t have been enough for Draco in that moment. Instead, he longed to feel full, to be _filled_. It was the most intimate thing in the world, Draco thought, letting someone else into the most private part he possessed; a part that he could certainly stimulate on his own but that a partner could reach so much better. No matter which way he laid or how he maneuvered his arms, there never seemed to be a comfortable way to finger his arse. So as usual, Draco resorted to Transfiguring a toothbrush – specifically kept for such a purpose – into a small sized dildo.

Draco lubed up before hoisting up his legs and softly pushing the toy into the rolling pucker of his arse, taking deep, measured breaths to avoid accidentally clenching a sphincter and causing unnecessary pain. There was a time and place for everything, but pain play was going to have to wait for another day.

Anyway, this was only a small toy, designed to stretch his passage enough to where he could insert the larger one that really had Draco salivating. Reveling in naughty feeling of being penetrated, he pushed the toy a little farther in and used his wand to make the dildo increasingly penetrate him both harder and faster. Lying back and ignoring the cramp that had formed from contorting at such a ridiculous angle, Draco pulled his cock in time to the strokes, wishing Potter’s calloused hand was touching him instead.

All too soon, the toy wasn’t meeting his needs anymore. With more patience than he cared to muster, Draco Transfigured his hairbrush into a moderately sized dildo, the last preparation before it was time to use the one he really craved. After the slim toy was removed with no fuss, Draco again lubed his arse and fought to keep his anal muscles relaxed. It took a little longer to insert the bigger dildo, and he found his hand slipping on the base as he attempted to budge the toy past his inner sphincter.

When it was in, though, Draco’s eyes rolled unconsciously into the back of his head. The pressure and stimulation to his prostate was a dream when combined with the sensations on his cock, but the ultimate pleasure was yet to come.

Unwilling to rush the process, Draco allowed his muscles to stretch to accommodate the larger size. He would have been fine just moving right into the large toy and enjoying the burn that came along with the sensations, but didn’t fancy having a sore arse the next day. Father had an eagle eye for pain and weakness so the only option was to be in tip-top shape when in his presence.

Potter’s face floated into his mind yet _again_ as he settled back and magically directed the dildo to move inside of his body. Draco wasn’t able to free himself from imagining Potter’s luminous green eyes looking straight into his soul as they made love, Potter’s cock filling him to the point where it drove everything else out of his head but Potter and warmth.

He knew he was close the moment he stopped caring that Potter was the star of his fantasies and only wanted _more_ of Potter, everything he had to offer. Draco Banished the dildo with a wave of his wand, not bothering to remove it. Not it was time for the real moment of fun. After applying yet more of that awful lube, he eagerly reached for his large glass dildo and slid it inside with more resistance than he’d expected, but not as much as he desired. His muscles were pushed to the limit now, and Draco breathed a deep sigh of contentment. He almost wished he could feel this way at all times.

There was some sort of rustling coming from the doorway, but Draco couldn’t be bothered. The pressure the plug put on his prostate made it hard to concentrate on anything other than the enhanced sensations flooding his cock. Thinking about Potter’s weight on top of him, Potter’s nails digging into the skin of his back, and the sting from Potter slapping his arse put Draco over the edge. With a soft moan he couldn’t quite hold back, Draco came all over his hand, covering his abs with long stripes of liquid. A wave of sleepiness overcame him, and so, without removing the plug, he rotated to lay on his side, pretending that Potter was spooning him from behind.

The sound of a throat being cleared jolted Draco from his tiredness, anxiety flooding his stomach as he scrambled to cover his exposed parts.

“Decades of service to the Dark Lord did not prepare me for the disturbing moment where I was forced to see the insides of my son’s anal passage,” remarked Father cruelly.

Draco didn’t say anything; couldn’t say anything. The door was supposed to be impenetrable because of his status as Malfoy, so why had it admitted Father to Draco’s private quarters?

It was as if Father was reading his thoughts. “The Master of the House can enter any blood relative’s chambers at any time, should he have justifiable reason to do so.”

There was no need to ask what the reason was; Draco was entirely sure it wasn’t something he was going to appreciate.

“You’ve been offered a marriage proposition,” Father revealed, watching Draco through narrowed eyes. “I’ve already accepted on your behalf. You’re to be wed at the end of summer.”

That was less than two months away. Draco could feel his heart sinking at the thought of being married off to any of the women he’d taken on dinner dates.

Father smiled in an mocking expression of victory. “Enjoy your perversions while you can, Draco. I’m sure your new wife won’t have any tolerance for them.” He walked out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.

This was undoubtedly worse than when Voldemort assigned Draco the task of killing Dumbledore. At least there was the hope that Potter would save him and the rest of the Wizarding World from destructive tyranny. But now, with the rest of his life robbed in one fell swoop, Draco felt hopelessness and despair sweep over him. His hands were shaking, and it was only after a few more moments of discomfort before he realized his arse muscles were tightening too hard around the plug.

With a foreboding sense of shame, Draco reached around and yanked it out, paying no attention to pain as the widest part of the bulb passed through him.

How his empty hole gaped and clenched at nothingness seemed a poignant metaphor for his life.


	2. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a trigger warning for suicidal themes.

The following weeks were both calmer and more stressful than any Draco had survived before. On the plus side, he was no longer required to go on dates, but at every given opportunity, Lucius spoke of the wedding and moved to put the preparations in place. He exulted in Draco’s misery, preparing for the day when the Malfoy family again rose to prestige.

Tailors regularly visited the house, fitting Draco for his wedding suit. He still hadn’t seen the bride, but if he didn’t love her, what did her identity really matter anyway? As far as he was concerned, he was marrying a nameless, faceless being that could easily be substituted for anyone else.

There were times Draco considered writing to his Aunt Andromeda for help. She was his blood, after all. It was often said that blood went deeper than any other tie. What stopped him from sending an owl was the thought that there _was_ something that trumped blood: hate and bigotry. After what had happened to her daughter, son-in-law, and husband during the War, Draco could never expect forgiveness, let alone mercy.

As the days passed, Draco grew more frantic. It wasn’t easy, thinking about his life as a soon-to-be-married-man. He’d give anything to avoid this particular hoop his father was insisting he jump through. Mother had sympathized, though she hadn’t been able to help. Ever since almost losing her family during the climax of the War, Narcissa was unwilling to make waves within her family.

With only a week to go until the big day, Draco was distraught, depressed, and entirely dissatisfied with his quality of life. He’d been doing some major thinking over the last few weeks, not all of it pleasant. There was always the option of going into the Wizarding World and living independently, even if it wasn’t up to his normal quality of life. Unfortunately, Draco’s former friends like Pansy and Blaise would no longer associate with him because he was branded; they had been able to weasel their way back into polite society and both had made it explicitly clear to him that they didn’t want him around to muck things up.

Another option was to go into the Muggle world, especially because it wasn’t as revolting a choice as it would have been for Draco back when he was in school. However, one of the things Draco relished about his existence was the ability to do magic. To pass as Muggle would be to obliterate part of his core identity. Of course, marrying a woman was also obliterating his sexual identity, but Draco preferred not to think too deeply about that.

He found himself longing for the comfort of nothingness, the familiarity of drifting off into sleep and never awakening. Death could be quick and painless if one had equipment to do the job right. Draco used to fear death, panicking and hyperventilating when he thought of a world existing without him in it. He knew there would only be oblivion waiting beyond the veil. The only way he could comfort himself was by acknowledging that when he did pass one day, that he would probably be old, sick, and ready to be put out of his misery.

All of his fears about death still applied. It didn’t magically go away just because things were shitty in the real world. In actuality, it was almost more frightening, because he could choose to meet his demise sooner rather than later. Draco was always in favor of procrastinating unpleasant realities. He also fully admitted that he had been a coward during the War and he was still a coward now – wasn’t that what suicide was called, the coward’s way out? It wasn’t as if, just because his father was marrying him off, this was the first time he’d had these sorts of thoughts.

Over the past few years, Draco had read anything he could get his hand on, including Muggle literature. He was definitely choosing to go as Romeo (and, by extension, Juliet) had, with poison. An enhanced Draught of Living Death should be enough to do the trick.

It wasn’t natural and it wasn’t right, but there was nothing left for him here. A man would never desire him in the way he longed to be wanted. An establishment would never look past the Mark on his arm and value him for his mind. And the curse of family loyalty would micromanage his life to the nth degree, never escaping him.

There was only a limited amount of time where he could act. Draco had never had the opportunity to lose his virginity, and he was sure Father played that up to the Malfoy’s best advantage when negotiating with the bride’s family. He didn’t go out much anyway, but the past fifty or so days had been hellish; Father wanted to make sure he stayed a virgin. His outings had been limited at best and chaperoned at worst.

Draco stole away in the early morning, long before anyone would be roused from their slumber. The wedding was six days away and he knew that Father expected him to pull dramatics. However, Father would only take precautions for the last three or so days before the nuptials. The only option was to act before his window closed for good.

He treated himself to a rare early morning croissant and coffee because, after all, dead men needed no gold.

When the Apothecary in Diagon Alley opened, Draco was the first customer to enter the shop. Oddly enough, it was a Weasley who unlocked the door. It wasn’t any of the ones Draco had been to school with, so he reckoned that his purchase would be easy enough. In fact, this man was so attractive that Draco wouldn’t have minded taking him to bed, and that was saying something when it came to Weasleys. 

The man was yawning – and he was also a Weasley – so Draco didn’t take it personally when he wasn’t immediately greeted upon walking into the shop.

“Hello,” he said quietly. It was unfortunate how one attractive man could completely make him feel shy and nervous.

“Mornin’,” said Weasley. He a few rough scars on his arms, but they only made him more attractive, in Draco’s opinion. “What can I do you for?” he asked.

“Draught of Living Death.” It made him slightly queasy to admit it out loud. “And an extra root of asphodel.”

Since the man didn’t react with judgement or suspicion, Draco figured that he didn’t know if you chased the Draught with asphodel, it would be lethal to the drinker.

“Hmm,” said the Weasley, placing a thoughtful hand on his chin. “I have the asphodel here, but I’ll have to brew up the Draught. Shouldn’t take more than a couple hours, if you want to hang around Diagon and come back.”

He wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible, but the news of his business transaction might reach Father’s ears faster if he went through Knockturn Alley.

“Yes, I’ll do that,” said Draco absentmindedly, calculating how much time he had before his disappearance would be questioned.

“Sorry about the delay,” the man said apologetically. “There’s a whole lot of us just helping out for a couple weeks while the owner’s on vacation. Family friend and all.”

Draco sighed. Little unnecessary details were not getting his potion done faster. “It’s no problem, I assure you.”

“All right, mate, I’ll have this done for you as soon as possible.”

He nodded to the Weasley before exiting the shop, wondering why nothing in his life could possibly be easy.

There was nothing to do in Diagon Alley, or at least nothing Draco was interested in doing. The one experience he longed for required a partner, but he was also sure that no one would have him. It went against his moral compass (slight that it was) to pay for such a service. It wouldn’t be the same, somehow.

Most people didn’t know it, but there was a secluded park in the woods behind Diagon Alley, just a quarter-mile behind Madam Malkin’s robe shop. Draco used to go there all the time with the other Slytherins when he was still at Hogwarts. He assumed that students from the other Houses knew about it but had never seen any of them frequenting the place. Of course, they might have just wanted to stuff themselves with junk food and enjoy a day out on the town instead of hiding away in a dark glen and risking missing out on the fun.

Draco wasn’t planning on making any farewells (he’d thought about leaving a note for Mother, but had ultimately decided against it) except to himself. He had some time now, so maybe it was worth it to see if he could come to any sort of closure about his – he didn’t like to think the word – _suicide_. Merlin knew Father wasn’t going to leave him alone enough at home to do any sort of processing.

The dirt was soft and a little wet to the morning dew, but to Draco, it smelled fresh and clean; natural, and even how a home should feel. He breathed in the scent, listening to the chirping birds that usually annoyed him, appreciating them for the first time.

He didn’t know what to say to himself. “Sorry I gave up on you?" “It’s better this way, you coward?" “This is exactly what you deserve, you Death Eater scum?"

From there, it was a slippery slope to thinking about how he wasn’t likely to be missed by anyone except Mother, which only put him in an even more melancholy mood.

There were no miracles. There was only action and reaction, cause and consequence. Draco would take the potion and embrace his decision, falling deep into nothingness to where he would not be aware that his existence had ceased, nor remember his time on Earth.

He hadn’t noticed the tears running down his face until one slipped into his mouth, prompting him to taste salt and fear. Of course he was a coward, but there was something to be said for embracing that which many spent their whole lives running from and refusing to acknowledge.

“Malfoy?” said a quiet, tentative voice.

Draco whirled around only to see Potter standing there in the clearing with a look of confusion on his face and a bag of stale bread in his hand.

Usually Potter’s irritating mug could instantly work Draco up into an angry frenzy, but since he was only planning on being alive for another twelve hours or so, he sighed and refused to let Potter wind him up.

“Yes?” Draco replied dully.

“Er,” said Potter weakly, probably noticing the tears on Draco’s face for the first time. “What are you doing here?”

“Sitting. Obviously,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Potter didn’t say anything for a long moment. Draco assumed he would go away out of politeness and closed his eyes again. Of course, Potter had the manners of a mountain troll.

There was a rustle of movement, and suddenly Potter was next to him on the ground, legs crisscrossed as he comfortably invaded Draco’s space.

“Malfoy,” he said seriously. “I owe you – and your mother – a life-debt from the War, so if there’s anything I can do to help out, just let me know.”

Draco snorted, though he suspected it came out more like a sob. “You can’t possibly mean that, Potter,” he said finally.

“Of course I do,” said Potter sincerely, always taking the chance to play Saviour.

Funny that Potter should approach him on the last day of his life. If it was any other day, Draco would have told him to fuck off and never bother him again, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And Potter wasn’t wholly unattractive, either.

“Fuck me,” Draco said, not looking at Potter.

He could feel Potter’s discomfort ebbing off of him in waves.

“Er, did you mean ‘fuck you’?” asked Potter helpfully.

“I said what I meant, Potter,” said Draco, rotating around to look Potter in the eye for the first time. “I knew you had problems with your eyesight, but surely your hearing is up to par?”

“I can hear perfectly, you wanker,” snarled Potter. “I’m just not sure that you’re not having me on right now.”

Draco smirked. This might be one thing he’d miss, raising Potter’s hackles. “Oh no, of course not, Potter,” he said with generosity. “I’d much rather be having you in.”

Potter absolutely _blushed_ , giving Draco a chance to appreciate his own deviousness. Whatever else they might say about him, no one could accuse him of not being a Slytherin right up until the very end.

He decided to give Potter a moment to think about it, because, after all, Potter wasn’t exactly quick at processing situations.

“Malfoy,” Potter finally hedged. “Isn’t there anything else you want from me? Merlin, it’s not like you have to cash in the offer today. You would probably enjoy holding it over my head for the next decade.”

Draco shook his head. “No, Potter, I’m cashing it in today. I want you to have sex with me, and I want you to make it loving.”

The blush was back; Potter was shaking his head and massaging his palms on his temple like there was no tomorrow. When he finally looked up, his hair was messier than usually and there seemed to be almost a tension in his eyes.

“Alright, Malfoy,” he conceded. “But I can’t promise I’ll be any good at it. It’s not like I’ve ever been with anyone other than Ginny.”

“Didn’t you break up over two years ago?” Draco inquired. Potter gave him a filthy look, so he decided to drop the topic while he was still ahead. But after a few minutes, Potter still hadn’t moved.

Draco gave an impatient hiss. “I’m ready now, Potter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Potter groused, standing up and brushing the dirt off the back of his Muggle jeans. With a wave of his wand, the bag full of bread suddenly Transfigured into a reasonably comfortable-looking mattress, though it was adorned with Gryffindor colored sheets, pillows, and covers.

“How are we going to do this?” Potter asked, looking uncertainly at Draco.

“Surely I don't have to explain the logistics, do I?” sniped Draco, trying to cover up his own nervousness.

Potter growled. “Get over here, Malfoy.”

Draco didn’t waste any time. He threw himself at Potter, knocking him onto the bed and fighting for dominance before he realized it might actually be quite nice if Potter took charge. He had to give Potter credit for only taking a minute to pick up on that cue, for he gently wrested Draco to the bed and pinned his hands down above his hands.

Panting, Draco realized that the real Potter was infinitely better than the Potter in his fantasies.

Real Potter looked down at him, flushed again and also panting, but seemed to muster up some resolve as he leaned down and kissed Draco softly on the lips. It was a chaste kiss, but Draco enjoyed it thoroughly, pleased that Potter hadn’t done anything stupid like cringe or lean back in revulsion.

He deepened their kiss after a few minutes, tasting the heady scent of Potter that had so frequently set him off into wild furies and more recently, wild sessions of self-pleasure. To his credit, Potter kissed Draco with everything he had, caressing Draco’s cheek and jaw while mussing his blonde hair with the other. Eventually, Draco retrieved his hands from where Potter had placed them above his head and pulled the great git to him, fingers trembling as they came into contact with Potter’s muscled back.

Potter took it upon himself to rid them of their shirts, and then their trousers, all the while nibbling Draco’s nipples and kissing his way down his chest until he was at the waistband of Draco’s pants.

Eyes closed, Draco reveled in the sensations until Potter suddenly stopped moving and his hands came to rest on Draco’s hips. It was only after he opened his eyes that he realized Potter was asking for his consent to go further.

He gave it, and without further ado Potter slid Draco’s pants off with one slick motion and gently laved at Draco’s cock, teasing around the head and licking down the shaft. By now, Draco was absolutely quivering with pleasure, feeling like Potter was doing a very fine job even if neither had nothing to compare the experience to.

When Potter finally took his cock into his mouth, drawing him deep so that his nose touched Draco’s blonde curls, Draco moaned in pleasure. He was so far gone now that Potter may never be able to draw him back out of the rabbit hole. But then Potter was sucking and licking, and the way his cheeks hollowed around his cock made Draco warm with heat but also something else; something, that if he’d been with anyone other than Potter, he would have described as love and appreciation.

Potter took a moment’s respite to lube up his fingers (Draco had no idea when Potter had had time to Conjure lube) and gently press into a finger his hole as he continued to work Draco’s cock with his tongue. Draco’s eyes rolled back into his head as he was overcome with pleasure; in some strange miracle, on his first try Potter managed to find his prostate. When he added another finger, Draco fell into that lovely region where the pain managed to enhance the pleasure.

He could feel himself getting closer from Potter’s ministrations, but the telling clench of his arse around the fingers had Potter cease the stimulations and look up with a shit-eating grin.

“Enjoying yourself, Malfoy?”

“Of course I am, you great oaf,” huffed Draco. “Come on Potter, please –” he broke off as Potter smiled and turned a minute of attention to his own cock, lubing it with quick strokes. He found himself wanting to taste Potter’s hard, thick cock, feeling slightly regretful it seemed they weren’t going to have time for that today.

Potter mounted Draco and lined up his cock before leaning down to kiss Draco and enter him in one fell swoop. Draco inhaled wantonly into Potter’s mouth, relaxing his sphincter so he wasn’t hurt as Potter filled him to the point where he finally felt _right_. They kissed passionately as Draco adjusted to the feeling of Potter inside him, giving the all clear signal by moving his hips until Potter got the message and started gently moving in and out of him.

He appreciated that Potter didn’t want to hurt him, but Draco also loved it like this – slow and sensual. He clutched at Potter’s face and kissed him with everything he was worth, pouring out fourteen years’ of frustrations with Potter, a lifetime’s worth of agony from his Father, and rebellion against his marriage to usher in something that felt purely right and good at the same time.

Draco had expected that Potter would be good in the sack, but he didn’t think they would manage to develop such synergy with each other. Potter thrust and Draco rose up to meet him, undulating together as though they’d been lovers for years. In a way, Draco almost supposed that they had.

As Draco came close to climax, he was unable to keep his mental barriers up. He’d heard rumors about Potter’s lack of skill with Legilimency, so he wasn’t too worried about what Potter might be able to access should he happen to tap into Draco’s subconscious. There was something slightly different about Potter’s face, but Draco didn’t have time to consider it as he let go entirely when Potter pushed him over the edge, driving into his prostate with force yet still holding Draco tenderly as though giving him this pleasure was the most important thing in the world to him.

When Draco came down, he felt the urge to slip into oblivion while cuddling with Potter, but for some reason the Saviour was still inside him, quivering with the need to release.

“Come for me, Potter,” he instructed, half-mumbling with sleepy bliss as he watched Potter rocking above him. Though it was uncomfortable being taken after he’d already come, Draco clenched around Potter and tried to make it as equally good for him. For the first time, Potter had far exceeded Draco’s expectations.

After Potter was fully empty, he came down with a final groan and moved to kiss Draco lovingly, cupping his face and nuzzling into Draco’s neck.

“That was amazing,” Draco whispered in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“Agreed,” Potter whispered back. “I think that’s most I’ve ever enjoyed your company.”

“Shut up,” Draco laughed, shoving Potter onto his side so that the two finally separated.

“Make me,” said Potter in his typical insolent fashion, stealing another kiss before Draco could say another word.

They cuddled for a moment before Draco started feeling really uncomfortable despite his tiredness. “Potter,” he mumbled. “I’m cold and wet.”

“Poor baby,” Potter cooed, flipping back the covers to pull his wand out of his jeans’ pocket. He cleaned them both off before pulling on his shirt and throwing Draco’s at his face. Startled awake, Draco slipped into his button down as Potter sorted out the rest of the clothes. They yanked on pants with no problem, but Draco could have sworn that Potter did something to his trouser pocket when he went to Summon them.

“Oh, don’t make that face at me, you,” Potter teased. “As impossible as it sounds, you had a little snag in your pants and I mended it for you.”

“Well thank you very much,” said Draco, rolling his eyes. He chose to let it go. Snuggling with Potter would be a fine way to put an end to this morning and there was no need to ruin the easy camaraderie between them.

Potter adopted the position of the big spoon, while Draco was more than content with leaning back against Potter’s soft front and letting himself be caressed and petted.

“You know, Malfoy,” Potter said, sounding very far away to Draco’s hazy mind, “I’m really glad we did this.”

“You’re welcome, Potter,” Draco said, trying and failing to clear his mind. “It only makes sense that I would ask you to do something you’d enjoy; you’re the Golden Boy, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah. But next time, you’re going to be more than a pillow princess,” warned Potter, carding his fingers through Draco’s blonde hair.

Draco lay silently in Potter’s arms. “There will be no next time,” he whispered inaudibly.

They fell asleep for just long enough to refresh Draco’s mind, and with regret, he slipped out of Potter’s arms after kissing him out of thank you as well as goodbye.

“Goodbye, Potter,” breathed Draco, tucking Potter’s hair back into place from where it had flopped all over his face. “I’ll actually miss you. And that’s saying something.”

There was something else he wanted to say, and for some reason, his body wouldn’t work until he’d gone and said it.

“Under different circumstances, I think I could have loved you.”

Tears formed again in Draco’s eyes as he rose from the comfortable Gryffindor mattress and left his lover behind, determined in spite of all else to carry through with his plan.

As he left the clearing, Draco’s heart hurt at the thought of Potter waking up all alone to his absence. It was enough to make him turn around and approach the bed again. He wasn’t about to leave a note or anything else equally incriminating, but something inside of him wanted to leave a gift for Potter to remember him by after he was gone.

Draco looked at the ugly ring on his finger with the Malfoy crest. He wouldn’t do that the honor of being left for anybody; it just wasn’t worth it to him. So with difficulty, Draco took off the pendant necklace Mother had given him when he was just a young child, the one he’d worn around his neck for years and years to keep some small part of sanity and comfort; to remember who he was above all else. This necklace did not symbolize his heritage. Instead, Mother told him that it symbolized comfort, forgiveness for oneself, and inner peace above all else.

He’d thought he’d need it to carry out the plan before him, but, surprisingly, Draco already felt everything the necklace had to offer. All their lives, Potter had needed those things every bit as much as he’d needed them, only now, Potter’s need was greater. Especially after Potter woke up the following morning and learned what Draco had done.

Sealing the necklace around Potter’s neck with a spell that would really make him work if he wanted to take it off, Draco gave his lover one last kiss.

“Wear it always, Potter,” he exhaled, lips pressed against Potter’s ear. “Promise that you’ll think of me after I’m gone.”

He stole out of the clearing with only a slight tinge of regret. Even after what had just happened between them, Draco still felt as though he was making the right decision.


	3. The Way Out

The rest of the afternoon crept by. Predictably, Draco was interrogated by Father, but he was too wound up from his encounter with Potter earlier and the thought of what he was going to do that evening to really pay much attention to the threats. He spent the day drinking tea and walking the Manor grounds, debating whether or not he wanted to pass on or remain behind as a ghost. The countryside was beautiful this time of year and it tempted him sorely.

Draco hadn’t yet made a decision when he retired to his rooms later that evening. He put on his fanciest set of robes, choosing to meet Death in style, and combed his hair before settling himself on his bed and pulling out the vial of potion. It was viscous and murky, making Draco think of the War and the darkness he’d never been able to leave behind.

Finally, after moments of twisting it around and around in his hands, he uncorked the glass and heavily restrained himself from giving it a sniff. There was no need for a reminder of just how foul the potion was. Draco reached around for the trousers he was wearing earlier and extracted the asphodel, taking care not to spill the vial. He wasn’t going to be allowed to leave the house again because Father had already taken all the necessary precautions.

This was it, then. Without allowing himself time to reconsider, Draco tossed back the vial and drained it, immediately chasing the potion with the crunchy root. It wasn’t unheard of for asphodel to change texture with time without losing potency, so Draco didn’t worry that the root was hard and grainy instead of rather chewy.

Immediately, he could feel his body shutting down and a fog settling in, encasing his mind protectively. All feeling and worries fell away for the first time; leaving Draco’s head clearer than it had ever been in his life. He was only of a lingering need to breathe, nothing else. Eventually, his mind adjusted to the darkness, revealing the nuances of grayscale shades and depths around him. Draco had always wondered if there was really a tunnel. Now, at least, he was imagining one, even if it didn’t really exist. And at the very end, there was indeed a light.

Half of him expected the light to never come closer, as if he was a hallucinating about a lemonade stand in the middle of the desert. But as his imagined body confidently strode down the chamber, walking towards the blinding light as if it was the North Star, Draco saw it becoming larger and larger until he was eventually consumed by it.

He expected to fall away, to lose consciousness and awareness simultaneously. Of course, there was always the other option, which Draco had always refused to think about when he was alive. If his life was already a living hell, what right did some deity have to make him spend an eternity there?

But then the light retreated from inside of him, instead floating back in front of him, as equally bright as before, to coalesce into a solid wooden door.

Draco blinked in confusion, taking in the scene before him. There was no residual feeling from the light, so he supposed it hadn’t done any damage. He waited a couple of minutes before concluding that the only option was to pass through the door.

Walking forward, he grasped the handle and pulled, ready to step into the unknown. Or maybe there was another surprise in store for him.

Instead of ending up in the deepest layer of Hell, Draco suddenly found himself standing in a bedroom with half red décor and half green. It was very strange, especially considering how the split colors extended to nearly everything in the room, even the soft duvet covering the bed.

He took a moment to orient himself. All of the feeling had returned to his limbs, but there was no way to shake the lingering feeling that this was not Death.

“Draco!” exclaimed a voice. “Blimey, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

A hand clapped down on his shoulder, causing Draco to jump in alarm. He spun around only to be met by Potter’s smiling eyes and ruffled hair.

“I know you don’t want go,” Potter said, taking a step closer and loosely wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck. “But if you do,” he whispered mischievously, “I’ll be sure to make it worth your while.” He was taken by surprise as Potter leaned even closer and pressed his lips to Draco’s, conveying emotion with a depth Draco hadn’t thought Potter was capable of doing.

Since this was clearly a dream there was no reason not to take full advantage of this nicer and more affectionate Potter. Draco kissed Potter back, playfully mussing up Potter’s dark locks.

“Hey,” he protested, though without feeling. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

Draco reeled him back in, hugging Potter close to his chest. Somehow, somewhere, the gods had taken pity on him. They’d given him his deepest desire, fulfilled every one of his longings from the past few years. It would definitely be a shame when they became vengeful and took it all away after they’d had their fun.

Potter wrenched himself out of the embrace, muttering about how Draco was so “impatient” and always “insatiable.” Wondering whether or not he should be offended, Draco was taken aback as a jumper (green and red, because of course) came flying at his head.

“Surely you’re not expecting me to wear this?” he asked, revolted, as he spoke for the first time.

“You do remember our deal, right?”

He frowned. “Remind me?”

“Have you been hitting the Christmas whiskey already?” snorted Potter.

“Seriously, Potter, pray tell.”

“Back to Potter, are we now?”

“ _Harry_ ,” huffed Draco, “What exactly was our agreement?”

Potter shook his head. “Seriously, Draco. This must not be as important to you as I thought it was.” He left the room, leaving Draco confused and alone in the room with the Christmas jumper.

Draco sighed. He didn’t need an omnipresent being to fuck up his life; he could do that fine himself, thank you very much. There wasn’t anything for it. He pulled off the plain black T shirt that had somehow found its way onto his body and reconciled himself to the jumper.

The living room, thankfully, was tastefully decorated in peaceful colors Draco could have picked out himself, should he have had a room to decorate. He nodded in approval, noticing Potter standing in a position of defeat over by the fireplace.

Though his relationship with Potter had been tumultuous, at best, Draco felt a wavering pang of guilt. He walked over to Potter and gently folded him into a reverse hug, nuzzling into the tender skin of Potter’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” Draco breathed. “Let’s go. Heaven help us if we’re late.”

Potter relaxed into Draco’s touch, turning his head around so their eyes locked. “Do you mean it?” he asked.

Draco could see the vulnerability behind the simple question. There was only one correct answer to such a plea. “Of course,” he said reassuringly. Potter’s – no, _Harry’s_ – eyes softened then and Draco knew he’d made the right call. “It’s important to me too. Come on, Harry.”

Before he could keep up the soothing efforts, Harry spun around and launched himself at Draco, crushing their lips together in a passion Draco hadn’t thought he’d ever be exposed to again. “God, I want you,” said Harry softly. “But we have to leave. You’re right; I never want to be exposed to Molly’s wrath again.”

Reluctantly, he released Draco and grasped for the Floo powder on the mantle. “See you there,” Harry said, still facing the fireplace. After a quick call of “the Burrow!” he was gone.

Draco had no hesitation. He snatched up some powder and tossed it to his feet, determined to follow Potter to the ends of the Earth if that was what it took. Not too long ago, he would have definitely categorized anywhere with a Weasley firmly into that category.

Suddenly, everything around him was blurring and the Floo Network was spinning him in a totally different direction even as Draco reached frantically for his destination.

When he was finally flung out in an entirely new grate, Draco coughed and tried to get a hold of himself. He was filled with an otherworldly sense of panic at losing Potter, even though their relationship had only existed within a dream.

To his very surprise, he landed in the foyer of a _very_ nice house. The inside décor was overwhelmingly decorated according to his taste, and Draco had to marvel with how perfectly it seemed to represent him with a good dose of Harry’s more quaint and charming tendencies thrown in.

“Draco!” Harry’s voice echoed from the other room. “Merlin, what kept you so long? Was there a line at the store?”

He wandered into the living room, noticing that he was now wearing a very posh summer suit and holding a bottle of Odgen’s best Firewhiskey. “Naturally,” he replied smoothly, immediately noticing the company adorning what he presumed was their living room. As Harry crossed over to collect the bottle, Draco greeted his old friends. “Hello, Pansy, Blaise.” It was never part of his expectations to see them again in his natural lifetime. And judging by Harry’s appearance, this was in the next couple of years after the first glimpse.

“Draco,” boomed Blaise, rising immediately to grasp Draco’s hand enthusiastically. He’d always appreciated Blaise’s strong gestures of posterity and poise. “It’s been too long.” With every bit of social decorum he possessed, Draco refrained from making a comment about _why_ their friendship had been estranged for so long.

He turned to greet Pansy next, pleased despite himself when she flung herself off of the couch and into his arms. “Hello, darling,” she cooed. “You’re looking simply splendid, you know. Seems like Potter’s been good for you after all.”

Draco didn’t have to make eye contact with Harry to tell how offended he was from Pansy’s comment. Fortunately, he seemed to have developed some manners over the years and kept his mouth shut. But it simply wouldn’t do to have his boyfriend insulted in their very house.

“Harry’s been wonderful to me over the years,” Draco said, keeping the defensive tone firmly out of his voice. “I simply must confess,” he said, with a teasing tone of confidentiality as he leaned closer to his old friends, “That I think we’re quite ready for the next step in our relationship.”

On the other side of the room, Harry practically glowed, and Draco gave him a secret smile, conveying that he’d meant every word.

Though Pansy’s face initially fell, she covered her disbelief nicely by congratulating the couple and Blaise swiftly followed suit. They spent the evening reminiscing about old times at Hogwarts and mutual acquaintances, never once touching on the War or the more difficult moments when they’d ditched Draco after years of friendship.

Harry didn’t say much, but Draco was profoundly grateful for his supporting presence and (surprisingly) calm aura. After a couple of hours, he pointedly ushered the former Slytherins out into the foyer, retrieving their coats as preparation to send them on their way.

Draco had never been so happy to have someone buffering his social interaction with people he’d once have entrusted not his life, but some very valuable material possessions to.

“Thank Merlin that’s over with,” Harry breathed as they finally shut the door behind Blaise and Pansy.

“I probably don’t tell you this enough, but you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Draco breathed, overcome with feeling for Harry.

“Oh, shut up, you great git,” laughed Harry. “I think you told me that last night.” But as a sign the gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed, he pulled Draco into a hug and softly caressed the nape of Draco’s neck. He appreciated how Harry didn’t make a huge deal about his moments of vulnerability.

There was a sound from across the other room and Ron Weasley’s voice was calling out, “Have those Slytherin wankers finally left yet?”

“Nope,” Draco called back. “I’m still here.”

“We’re coming through!”

Five seconds later, Granger and the Weasel were climbing out of their fireplace, hastily dusting off the ash.

“Malfoy, mate, you know I didn’t mean you,” the Weasel said, a nervous lilt to his voice. His body language suggested that their relationship had gotten past old animosities, but they were still careful around each other.

“Weasley, I was just fucking with you,” Draco said casually, watching Harry and Granger for clues about how this interaction should go.

“Good,” said the Weasel with relief, clapping Draco on the shoulder. “Glad to see that you haven’t clawed out the eyes of those unsavory characters.”

Draco smirked. “Oh, how your vocabulary continues to improve over time.”

“I think they’re flirting,” Granger said to Harry. “Should we be worried?”

Before Harry had a chance to answer, the Weasel said impatiently, “You look like you could use a game of chess, Malfoy. Or at least I could. Get the Firewhiskey?”

“You’re on,” said Draco. “You have nothing to worry about, love,” he reassured Harry, kissing his cheek.

Harry just shook his head as Draco settled himself in with the Weasel around their deluxe chess board and started setting up the black pieces, reveling in how his friend’s eyes were glinting with challenge. They played long into the night, stopping only after Granger came over and insisted on having a word with Draco about the effect a particular potion might have on healing certain skin conditions of her patients. He was rather delighted to give his opinion and rambled on enthusiastically, not noticing Harry staring at him fondly from the sofa.

It seemed like he had friends, albeit not the ones he’d thought he’d have, in the future after all.

After the Weasel and Granger finally escorted themselves home, Harry pounced on Draco. “I need to have you right here, right now,” he growled, pawing at Draco’s still-immaculately buttoned dress shirt and tie.

Draco responded immediately, pulling Harry on top of him in the chair he’d spent the second half of the evening talking to Hermione in. He relished the feeling of Harry’s sinewy back muscles, gently massaging them as Harry gasped under his touch.

“How do you want me?” he whispered into Harry’s neck, nuzzling gently but in a way that assured Harry he meant business.

“Inside me,” Harry breathed back, flushing enough to assure Draco he wasn’t comfortable asking for this. Most likely, Draco usually bottomed in their relationship. He didn’t mind the change of pace, delighted that Harry trusted him enough to allow him access to the deepest part of himself.

“I’ll make it good for you, love,” Draco breathed back, surprised as the terms of endearment just naturally slipped out.

“You always do, Draco,” Harry chuckled lightly. “Now carry me to bed.”

He wasn’t overly heavy, but Draco couldn’t resist poking fun at him as he completely guessed at the way to their bedroom and somehow got lucky when he found it on the first try.

“You great oaf,” he said fondly, carefully depositing Harry on the bed. Draco climbed on top of him, pinning Harry’s hands above his hands and kissing the smile off of his serene face. Having not had the benefit of the years of sex they’d surely been having, Draco made educated guesses at what Harry would like. It did help that he could remember the one time they’d been together, but he didn’t merely want it to be good, he wanted to blow Harry’s mind.

He kissed his way down Harry’s chest, flicking his tongue gently over Harry’s nipples. It seemed as though Harry was even more sensitive there than he’d remembered. Eventually he made his way to Harry’s cock, sliding his tongue along it teasingly with more finesse than he’d expected to have. Harry looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself, pressing into Draco’s mouth with every lick though he was clearly doing his best not to thrust down Draco’s throat.

When Draco felt as though Harry was sufficiently teased, he lubed up his fingers and pressed against Harry’s rim, gently massaging the outer ring of muscle and listening to Harry’s resulting gasps. “Come on already,” Harry moaned. “Get on with it.”

Draco responded by swallowing around his cock, pressing the first finger in as Harry reacted in surprise and pleasure. He felt around for the prostate, feeling Harry tighten around him with inexperience and stress. “Shh,” he said, repositioning himself so that he could kiss and reassure Harry. “It’ll feel good soon, I promise.”

Draco retrieved his finger and added more moisture before pressing back into Harry. He kissed him thoroughly, paying attention to a spot on his neck he remembered Harry liking during their time in the forest together. It seemed to work; he could see the tension leaving Harry’s and feel him relaxing the longer Draco continued to finger him. He added a second finger, using the increased motor control to explore until he finally brushed up against the prostate and Harry positively whined with pleasure. “Draco – now,” he moaned. “I need you right now.”

He knew Harry would definitely feel a burn without a little more prep, but thought he could make it bearable. Slicking his cock to the point where it looked like he’d already come, Draco lined himself up with Harry’s hole and started pushing in, kissing his lover and reassuring him continually so that he didn’t clench and cause unnecessary pain. Only when he was buried balls-deep in Harry did Draco allow himself to finally feel the pleasure of being encased in such a tight space. Even as pleasure ran through him while he began gently thrusting, Draco preferred bottoming. The one part he did appreciate was getting to show Harry the part of sex he loved so much.

The incredible closeness and love that ran between them was definitely an added bonus as well.

Draco thoroughly enjoyed reducing Harry to an incoherent mess to the point of where he was begging Draco to go faster and harder. He could only oblige his lover, nipping wildly at Harry’s neck and squeezing his cock in synch to try to send him over the edge. After only a couple minutes, it worked, and Harry clenched madly around his cock as he came in spurts across his and Draco’s stomachs. Overcome by the sight of Harry finally losing control and the immense pressure on this cock, Draco followed suit. His vision blurred even as he buried himself in Harry, leaning down to nuzzle into his lover’s neck as he thrust deep.

Too soon, it was over, and Draco came back to his senses enough to find Harry lovingly carding his fingers through his hair. “Did I live up to my promise?” Draco asked huskily, too chuffed to even consider being annoyed about the mess his hair surely was now.

“Most definitely,” Harry said agreeably, pulling Draco in for a slow, passionate kiss.

“Mm, good,” he said, sliding out of Harry and rolling over to let himself be spooned. They cuddled, more comfortable after Harry finally cast a wordless Cleaning Charm, and enjoyed the post-coital bliss that Draco was sure followed every one of their encounters together. This was practically a no-risk environment, so Draco decided to take a chance. “I love you,” he whispered, squeezing Harry’s hand from where it was tucked around his waist.

“I love you too,” Harry whispered back with zero hesitation. Comforted, Draco snuggled tighter into Harry’s front and closed his eyes. Harry pulled him a little closer as well before relaxingly stroking Draco’s forearm and murmuring gently in his ear.

Long before he wanted to, Draco was drifting off to sleep in Harry’s arms.

When he woke up again, the first thing he noticed was his wedding ring. Somehow not surprised, Draco found that yet more time had passed when he rose from the bed and looked at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t _old_ , not by a long shot, but there were the slightest traces of laugh lines in his face and around his eyes. It was amusing to think that he smiled and laughed enough to even have these lines.

“Good, you’re up,” said Harry, entering their bedroom. He was dressed somberly, wearing a matching wedding ring, and Draco wondered if they were going to a funeral. “I know it’s going to be a hard day for you, but we’ll get through it.” Was one of his parents dead?

Taking cues from Harry, Draco showered and dressed himself in respectful black dress clothing. He allowed Harry to coax him into eating breakfast before they left, content to be Side-Alonged to wherever the gravesite surely was.

Harry brought a blanket and Draco thought nothing of it until they’d arrived at the cemetery. If it was one of his parents buried six feet under, there was nothing going to keep him here all day presumably having a conversation with them. Surprisingly, his feet walked in synch with Harry’s to the grave as if he’d been here many times before.

Finally the moment of truth came. They stopped in front of a granite grave marker, and Draco braced himself as he leaned forward to read the name on the stone. _Draco Malfoy_ , the heading read. A devastating pang went through his chest, but Harry caught him in a rough hug as he went to turn around.

“Draco, love,” he soothed. “You’re here. We have a happy life together. There’s nothing to regret anymore.”

He clutched Harry harder, grasping at his neck as if it would provide him desperately needed security. But he was distracted by something underneath Harry’s collar. Curious, Draco gently unbuttoned Harry’s top button, ignoring his look of disapproval, and peeked underneath, gently pulling the familiar metal chain out of the shirt. To his utter surprise and disbelief, Harry was wearing the pendant he’d given him all of those years ago. The metal was slightly tarnished, but otherwise it was in perfect condition intact against Harry’s skin.

“You kept it,” he said with wonder, tracing his fingers down the line of Harry’s jaw.

“Of course I kept it,” Harry said. Draco could see tears forming in his deep green eyes. “I almost lost you forever the day you gave it to me.”

“Do you only wear it on this anniversary?” Draco pressed, feeling unpleasant emotions start to take control.

Harry shook his head. “I’ve worn it every day for ten years,” he said quietly. “I usually glamor it so you don’t notice, but today I finally felt that you were ready to see it.”

Draco kissed him, tears streaming down both of their faces. There was no other response, no expression of words that could properly describe the incredible love and gratitude he felt for this man. After all these years, Harry was still reminded of what Draco had almost done, had kept it with him as they went through their lives together. Draco wondered how many fights he’d intentionally conceded in an attempt to keep him feeling secure.

“Thank you,” he whispered finally. “But I don’t want you to treat me differently because of it. I never did.”

“I haven’t,” Harry said, smiling through his tears. “I know what you’re thinking, and no, I haven’t let you win a single fight.”

“What do you mean you know what I’m thinking?” Draco asked cautiously.

Harry snorted. “Really, for someone so observant you can be quite dense at times. I’ve been able to do Legilimency for the past decade, Draco. I read your mind that night. That’s how I knew to Transfigure the asphodel root to prevent you from killing yourself.”

“You’ve been reading my mind for the past ten years?!” Draco blurted.

“No, you absolute moron,” said Harry, rolling his eyes. “Only sometimes. You know how it works, don’t you? Seeing as you’ve been reading my mind for at least that long. I can really only access your thoughts and emotions when your guard is down.”

“And it was down that night, because it was my first time,” Draco said, piecing it all together. “I’m surprisingly impressed that you knew how to alter that asphodel, Harry.”

“How else was I supposed to get through to you?” Harry asked, a hint of desperation to his tone. I recognized that you were suicidal long before we met in the woods, but I knew there was really no other way to show you of what we’d both known for years unless you saw it with your own eyes.”

“Even back then, you had such a good read on me,” Draco admitted. “And here I thought you were a giant blubbering idiot half the time.”

“I still am,” Harry said, smiling wickedly. “Except something about you seems to make me better, Draco.”

“I feel the same,” said Draco, tucking the necklace back into Harry’s shirt and rebuttoning his collar. “Please don’t glamor it anymore. I want to be reminded on days that aren’t my near-deathday anniversary.”

“If you’re sure,” hedged Harry, taking Draco’s hands in his own.

“I am,” said Draco firmly. “But I want to take you somewhere else today. I think it’s time to stop commemorating this. I want our life to focus on the present and the future instead of dwelling so much in the past.”

“I can get onboard with that.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Where are we going to go in funeral clothes?”

“Just wait and see.”

He turned to Side-Along Harry to his favorite restaurant in Paris, but even as he tried his damndest to say in the moment, a force outside of his control was forcing Draco back to reality.

Groggily, he came back to consciousness in his own body in Malfoy Manor, where he had lain on the bed previously that evening and waited to die. There were no words for the overwhelming sense of shame that completely encased Draco as he thought about the life he might have missed out on living. But the closure he’d reached with Harry allowed him to begin forgiving himself for trying to take the actions he did.

The wedding was still planned and he was still living in this dank, dark space with an oppressive father and reluctant mother. He could never prosper here, could never be who he truly was. Instead of trying to kill himself as a way out, Draco reflected, he should have simply just left home. Even if he was disowned, it would be worth it.

In a manner of minutes, all of his most valuable possessions were packed. Hoping against hope that there were still establishments renting out rooms for the night, Draco summoned all of his magical strength and tore a hole in the Manor’s wards so that he could Apparate out. Even as he _felt_ Lucius reacting in alarm and anger, Draco didn’t look back as he got the hell out of there.

Fortunately, a place to stay was taken care of with relative ease, nothing like the careful plotting and planning he’d been doing before. Draco situated himself and sat down to think about how he wanted the next chapter of his life to look. Even if it didn’t involve Harry, Draco was going to make something of himself. He was going to find happiness wherever he could.

But there was the simple matter of Draco actually wanting Harry. He didn’t have to have him; Harry wasn’t tantamount to Draco recovering his self-esteem and drive, but he wanted him. Draco had the sneaking suspicion that Harry had designed the reaction so that he would see those specific glimpses. He now knew that they could make an actual go at this.

Even though it was late, even though he was quivering with excitement, and even though he didn’t know if Harry would actually accept him, Draco went to the flat where, in the scenario, he and Harry had lived first. With courage he was determined to exercise, Draco reached up and knocked on Harry’s door.

 


End file.
